


In which (most of) Panic get lost in the desert on the way to a Mad Gear gig

by greedy_dancer



Category: Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-29
Updated: 2011-10-29
Packaged: 2017-10-25 01:36:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greedy_dancer/pseuds/greedy_dancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>There was a loud clang, and when Spencer looked up from the smoking engine, the look on his face told Dallon they wouldn't get to the Vienna Club in time. The first Mad Gear gig in years, and now they wouldn't make it.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	In which (most of) Panic get lost in the desert on the way to a Mad Gear gig

**Author's Note:**

  * For [krisipanics](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=krisipanics).



> Written for Krisipanics, on the occasion of her birthday. Thanks to Desert_neon for the beta.

There was a loud clang, and when Spencer looked up from the smoking engine, the look on his face told Dallon they wouldn't get to the Vienna Club in time. The first Mad Gear gig in years, and now they wouldn't make it.

"Busted," Spencer said calmly, confirming Dallon's fears.

"Don't you mean 'ghosted'?" Brendon piped up, adjusting his sunglasses and angling his head towards the sun a little more.

Dallon glared. He didn't understand how they could act so cool about it. Weren't they stranded in Zone 6 in the middle of the desert? He wiped his forehead before the sweat could drop into his eyes, and wondered for the hundredth time how Brendon and Spencer could bear the sun. It probably came from their Vegas years. He wasn't convinced Brendon wasn't actually part lizard.

"Isn't this bad? Why aren't you guys worried?" Dallon said. "I mean, we have no water reserves, we're so far off the tracks no one will ever find us and our engine is busted..."

"Ghosted," Brendon corrected.

"Ghosted, busted, whatever!" Dallon continued, his voice rising with impatience. "My point is that the sun is setting and if we don't make it to the diner before nightfall we're going to _die_. Never mind missing the gig of the year, no, the gig of the decade, we will all freeze to death." He pointed at Brendon, who was laughing at him. "You threw your shirt out of the window somewhere back in Zone 3, dude. You'll be first to go."

Brendon looked down at his bare chest and shrugged. "I'll make one of you keep me warm," he stated, and Spencer snorted.

Dallon paced a little bit in the sand, peering at the horizon. It was empty. He didn't know whether to be relieved or worried about that. He didn't want any hostiles to come across them stuck there like sitting ducks; yet someone finding them might be their only chance of survival. He was determined to keep a steady watch, even if the two others couldn't see the seriousness of the situation. Maybe they'd both been struck by heatstroke or something.

** 

When two hours had passed and no cloud of dust had been spotted on the horizon, Dallon slumped down in the sand and admitted defeat. He looked back at the still faintly-smoking car, where Brendon and Spencer were "conserving body heat" and sighed.

They were going to die this time, he was pretty sure. Why, why did he let himself get dragged into their half-baked schemes? It was because of Spencer, he thought. Spencer looked so reasonable and mature! But Dallon now saw that this was only because Spencer was usually standing next to Brendon. Most people looked reasonable and mature next to Brendon.

Dallon sighed again, and shivered. The sun was starting to set, and it was already getting chillier. At least death by hypothermia would be painless. Compared to some of the near-death experiences he'd let the guys drag him into, it wouldn't be the worst way to go.

He was starting to resign to his fate, wondering if going back to the car and taking the guys up on their invitation to "conserve heat" with them would delay their inevitable demise by much, when he saw the dust.

** 

Brendon was now wearing Spencer's shirt – backwards – and neither of them looked like they understood the consequences of what Dallon was telling them.

"Someone is coming," he repeated for the third time. "Did you actually come your brains out? I thought that was a figure of speech."

"Chill out," Brendon mumbled, stretching lazily.

"Yeah, man, calm down," Spencer added, stretching his legs as much as he could in the backseat. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Oh well, if you're _sure_!" Dallon said, and reached for the glove box. He didn't think they had ray guns, but he thought he remembered Spencer shoving a Taser in there once. Maybe that would keep the Dracs away for a little while.

He looked back to the horizon. Whoever it was, they were coming right towards the car. The vague shape of the dust cloud had resolved into three smaller puffs now. Dallon could make out two cars and a bike, but he still couldn't see who was driving. He clutched at the Taser and walked away from the car.

** 

They were not Dracs. Relief flooded Dallon's veins. The more he looked at the tiny man who was trudging through the sand towards him, the more the smudges on the guy's skin looked like tattoos. BLI would never tolerate tattoos, Dallon was sure.

"Are you Sentimental Boy?" the guy called out when he was within shouting distance. "We got a transmission from Zack. Is everyone okay?"

Dallon went from relief to anger in a flash. Of course the guys had called Zack somehow. Of _course_. And they'd neglected to tell him, and let him believe they were going to die. Again. He resolved, not for the first time, never to believe anything Brendon or Spencer told him ever again.

"No, I'm Violent Socialite," Dallon said, once more cursing Brendon for choosing them such convoluted zonerunner names. "He's back at the car with Hurricane Beat, I'll go get them. "

" Well, let's get this show on the road," the guy wheezed. "We're already running behind schedule. I'm Hard Life," he concluded, extending his hand for Dallon to shake. He was seriously tiny, and was indeed covered in tattoos, including one of a Drac on the side of his neck.

"I'll get the others," Dallon said, and ran towards the car to give Brendon and Spencer the news. And possibly a good punch each.

** 

Although he still wanted to kill them both right now, Dallon would have preferred not to be separated from Brendon and Spencer. Despite how big one of their saviours' cars was, however, its curly-haired driver and shaved-haired passenger had insisted that there was only room for two more, and when he'd looked inside Dallon had seen big boxes taking up all of the space at the back. Some kind of smugglers, then. He could work with that.

He'd ended up riding shotgun in the car Hard Life drove. There were two more guys in the car, and Dallon had offered to ride in the back but the one named Party Poison had refused to move. One look had been enough for Dallon to understand why: a small guy was currently sleeping, his head in Party Poison's lap. "He still needs his rest," was all Party Poison had said, but Dallon could guess what it meant from the protective way Party Poison was stroking the guy's short, spiky hair. Short hair in the Zones could only mean one thing.

The theory of a recent run-in with Dracs was corroborated by the bike the sixth member of the group had been driving, much too shiny to have been built from parts. He'd turned down the blonde guy's invitation to ride behind him on the bike - "Your loss," the guy had said before putting his helmet back on. "I'll ride ahead and give Bo-- Sound Wave a hand. See you there," he'd told Hard Life, before sliding his helmet visor down and taking off in a spray of sand. "GOOD LUCK", the helmet had said.

Dallon thought they'd been pretty lucky already, Zack's transmission getting to some other concert-goers like this. Then again, half the Zones had probably been converging towards the Vienna Club that day. It was that very fact that had prompted Spencer to try a "shortcut", hoping to get there early to try and secure a good spot in the pit. Dallon sighed again at the irony. Now they would probably arrive halfway through the set. He drummed his fingers on his knees.

He looked up to see Party Poison watching him in the rearview mirror. "Stressed you'll miss the gig?" he said.

"Yeah," Dallon answered. "I'd be gutted, honestly. I never even thought I'd get to see them, you know? What with all the rumors they'd been caught, or ghosted. Oh man, when I heard that traffic report last year I was down for like, three weeks. These guys are my heroes, you know? This is, like, the biggest thing since the Blast, and now I might not even make it."

He stopped and drew in a long breath. Party Poison's gaze was amused in the mirror.

"Sorry, man," Dallon said, sheepish. "I know I'm a bit intense about them, but like, they're so important to me. I forget not everyone's like that."

"Who knows," Party Poison said, serious now. "Maybe you'll get to meet them after all."

"As long as I can catch a couple of songs, I'd be happy. Hell, one song," Dallon conceded.

"Party Poison's right, you never know," Hard Life interrupted. "They might be running late, too. Maybe their vocalist felt a sudden and urgent need to re-dye his hair just as they were set to leave, or something."

Dallon snorted. He couldn't imagine Missile Kid doing anything like that. The guy was a legend; an actual resistance hero and a rockstar, to boot. Dallon doubted he had too much time to think about his hair.

He said so, but that only made Hard Life chuckle. Party Poison looked at Dallon in the rear view mirror again and said, gravely: "They're only human, you know. People forget that, but they're regular guys. Not heroes."

"Maybe," Dallon said doubtfully. "They're heroes to me, though. Their music, it just does something, you know? I'm not talking just about resistance stuff, although anything that pisses BLI off that much is alright by me. But to me, personally... I feel like it speaks to me."

He trailed to a halt and felt his face heat. "I know it sounds stupid," he said. "But it made me realize I could be anything I wanted, that I could leave the City and find my own small way to fight, you know? To contribute to the resistance. Even if it's just by listening to the transmissions and playing my own music with the guys, or whatever. Sounds silly, huh?" he finished, looking at his hands on his knees.

Dallon knew how he must have sounded to those guys. They were actual zonerunners, probably smuggling weapons or something. They'd gotten caught and hurt by BLI more than once, judging by their hair. They probably saw him as one of the kids with a bad case of hero worship who got their thrills by playing in illegal bands in Zone 1 basements.

Party Poison was noddind thoughfully, though. "I get it," he said, and was opening his mouth to say more when Hard Life announced that they would soon be arriving at their destination.

Dallon heard Party Poison wake the sleeping guy gently, as they drove him past seemingly endless lines of colourful vehicles. "Gee? Are we there?" the guy asked in a rough voice, just as Hard Life pulled up the car at the entrance of the club.

"You're not coming?" Dallon asked him as he was stepping out of the car.

"We have more stuff to do first," Hard Life replied. "But we'll get there."

"See you around," Party Poison said, waving at Dallon as the car started moving again. Dallon saw the other guy blink, confused, and then the car was turning around the corner of the building and Dallon prepared to enter the club.

** 

The gig hadn't started, thank god. There was still a tech on stage, a blond bearded guy who got cheers from the audience each time he checked a new mic.

Dallon scanned the audience, trying to identify Brendon and Spencer in the colourful crowd. The place was packed and buzzing with excitement, guys and girls in homemade MG&MK shirts, some wearing colourful masks that clashed with their crazy hair.

He finally found the guys by the bar, laughing with Zack and Ian and waving pints of homebrew around.

"Here you are!" Brendon exclaimed, putting his arm around Dallon. "See, didn't we tell you not to worry? When are you going to learn to trust us?" Dallon stole Brendon's beer and took a big gulp.

“How was your ride?" Spencer asked.

"It was fine," Dallon answered. "Great, actually. Really interesting. How was yours?"

"Really interesting, too," Spencer said with an eyebrow waggle that made Dallon roll his eyes.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Dallon said, "you two should never be left alone."

"Tell me about it," Zack said in the long-suffering voice Dallon was starting to identify as specific to discussions of Brendon and Spencer's sex lives.

"What?" Brendon asked. "We wanted to thank them for the ride! And the shirts."

"What shirts?" Dallon asked, but a quick glance at Spencer and Brendon's chests confirmed that they were indeed wearing shirts Dallon had never seen before. "They bought you MG&MK merch? Or is that what they were smuggling?" he continued with a sideways glance at Zack. Dallon knew how sore of a topic that was for him, but Zack didn't seem too irked this time. In fact, he was looking at Dallon with the strangest little smile.

"No man," Brendon said, "those are legit. They had whole boxes of them in the car. Vinyls, too, and like, a whole bunch of shit." Brendon kept talking, but Dallon wasn't listening anymore. There was a nagging sensation at the back of his mind, like he was forgetting something that should have been obvious. Just as he thought he was going to get it, the club lights dimmed and Dr Death-Defying himself rolled out onto the stage to announce the band's imminent arrival.

Dallon felt adrenaline rush through his body like the roar of the crowd, felt his hands get clammy and start to shake, and suddenly it was pitch dark in the club and the crowd's frenzied cheers were pierced by a shrill guitar note. It was hard to see in the strobelight of camera flashes, but there were shapes moving on stage, and Dallon caught a glimpse of brilliant red as a voice screamed: "It's so good to be back! This song is for all the violent socialites out there. Art is the weapon!" and Dallon felt like he stopped breathing as he grabbed Brendon and Spencer's hands and the whole world went bright and loud.

**

The End.


End file.
